Storytime

2026-04-05

347 E Calhoun (now Bde Maka Ska) Boulevard is in the heart of Minneapolis's Tenth Ward, where Kate's Aunt Marjie and Uncle Bill lived.

Aunt Marjie was the first woman chemical engineer to work at Honeywell, after first being hired as a secretary for some executive back in the late 1940's. She showed up for work every day despite her lack of clerical skills. Her boss was dissatisfied with her work, finally asked her what she could do, and Aunt Marjie replied that she was an engineer. After much hemming and hawing, her boss moved her 'upstairs' to the lab where she eventually became a supervisor of the whole department. Uncle Bill was a stay-at-home editor and proofreader for graduate papers and publications for the University of Minnesota. A child of Norwegian immigrant farmers living in North Dakota, his quiet, reserved demeanour belied passions that ran deep; he loved learning and music, and especially Aunt Marjie, who referred to him as 'her King'. Their cats, Torvald, Sigurd, and Sophie, were their children. Grandma Warner, Aunt Marjie's mother with a story of her own, lived with them, too. Both were activists dating back to their college days and were staunch DFL supporters. With them, Kate and i learned what it was to go to work for a candidate for elected office. Keith Ford, Kate's brother-in-law, had decided to run for the city council, and that home became a beehive of campaign activity beginning in April of 1970.

Nearly every weekend, Kate and i spent time around Aunt Marjie and Uncle Bill's huge dining room table strategizing, planning, and learning how things worked in politics. We pored over maps and phone lists, figuring out the most effective places to station lawn signs and distribute literature. The established city, county, and even state politicians would occasionally stop by to speak with us about the campaign and sometimes simply to visit. Kate and i were welcomed into all the conversations and eventually got comfortable around those who held the power. When the printed materials arrived, we got busy out in the neighbourhoods, disseminating leaflets and flyers. When Keith's opponent figured out that he was actually running a serious campaign, he decided to tear up the street leading to 'Headquarters' to slow us down, to slow the traffic leading to the house. We found ways around that inconvenience because we believed. Every evening, after walking up too many flights of apartment building stairs and covering so many sidewalks, we'd reconvene at the table with a meal waiting for us. Everyone asked us how it went, where did we go, and how many places did we visit, checking off the list or the place on the map. We'd go home satisfied, looking forward to the next weekend.

Election time rolled around that autumn. The tension was building, and Aunt Marjie's house was a-buzz. When 'The Night' finally came, the 'Whoopee Committee' brought over a van full of food and refreshments for those of us gathered around the TV, some around the radio in the kitchen, waiting for the results. There was a rhythm to the noise level until finally...we lost. Some people began the "autopsy' right away, some looked despondent, some played the 'sour grapes' game. Aunt Marjie presided over the concession speech, but finished the evening with a solid, 'Wait 'til next time!'

There was a 'next time' and we won.

2026-03-22

The Doyles lived next door to Gram. Mrs. Doyle kept her many kids in the house nearly all the time. i never saw her, either. The only signs of life were the hollers and cries that emerged in summer through open windows on all levels of their dwelling. Yet, one day, Mikey emerged. He was a kid about my age who wrestled a bicycle off his back porch and walked it down his driveway.

Signs of actual life from the Doyle house! There weren't many kids in the neighbourhood to play with, so i ran out of the front porch to watch him from the yard. Mikey rode his bike back and forth, up and down the block a few times before stopping to say hello and begin a small conversation. When he began riding again, i watched him with great interest as he maintained his balance and glided smoothly down the sidewalk, navigating the dips and cracks as easily as the smooth stretches. After a few more passes, he asked if i had a bike. No, i didn't know how to ride. Mikey asked if i'd like to try. Yes. So he got off and gave me the handlebars. i got on the seat, put one foot on a pedal and left the other on the ground for balance at first until i mustered the courage to lift it off the concrete. Tenuous at first, but determined to do what Mikey did, by the time i got to the end of the block i got a sense of what it felt like to move differently in the world. It was wonderful! Mikey and i took turns riding until his mom told him to get in the house. i ran into our house, too, and gleefully announced that i had learned to ride a bike, much to the surprise and amazement of everyone there.

A full eight months passed until the day my dad and Auntie Helen took me to the bike shop on 24tth and Hennepin to buy my first bicycle. It was a day i had been dreaming of for what seemed like forever. It was a 3-speed Triumph with a comfortable saddle seat. But it was much more than that...it was my ticket to freedom! At first, i was allowed to ride it in the neighbourhood, but no further. Adults were watching. Not long after, i made a habit of getting my chores done by 10 a.m. to allow for longer trips, with only a bottle of water and a box of Jello mix in my saddlebag that kept me going all day until suppertime. My bike and i went down dirt roads that have long since been paved to sit under a tree to watch the Minnehaha Creek flow by, we went looking for wildlife and historic places, we went to the library and softball practices. Wherever looked curious or unknown, there we went. All the while, there were no parents, no admonitions, no one telling me what to do and how to do it, What was gained on that bike was privacy, the freedom to be myself, confidence, courage, and self-reliance. Rain or shine, that bike and the rules of the road served me well.

That bike still sits in my garage. It's too beat up to ride, but i can't give it up.

2026-03-15

There's the family you're born into. Then there's the family you choose, or the one who finds you. The Warners were such a family. Kate was a schoolmate and dear friend i met in junior high, who had three sisters. All the girls in her clan were named after queens of Europe: Elizabeth, Victoria, herself, after Catherine the Great, and Alexandra. Her father, who died too early from leukemia caused by the radiation exposure he suffered when he was present at Los Alamos while witnessing the test of an atomic bomb, revered women and treated them all like royalty. Her parents had met while they were serving in the Marines, both in peace and in wartime, then began a family and moved to the country upon retirement. Kate's life changed dramatically after she lost her father, as it did for all of them.

Kate and i met in civics class. She was smart, knew how the government worked better than anyone else in the room, and we formed a relationship while working in the same group tasked with drafting a bill to present to the State legislature. We chose to make changes to a major highway that ran through our neighbourhood to reduce fatalities and ease the flow of traffic. Every week in recent years, too many people were killed or maimed on that road, and it had to stop. So we dug in with maps, looking at intersections and chokepoints along the route, talking with people who drove it regularly...we looked at speed limits and accident reports before drafting our plan for change. Our teacher, Mr. Wangen, was tough. He asked hard questions for us to consider, he picked apart the language we used, always asked for more clarity and specificity, and sometimes drove us to distraction with his demands that our bill be better. Kate and i bonded over the effort and frustration, determined to shape a better argument for why and how the change must come. i spent more and more time at her home working on the three-week project right up until the night before our scheme was due. Of the four students in our group, it was Kate and i who walked the assignment, together, up to the front of the class to present to Mr. Wangen. And, after the weekend spent wondering what he was thinking and how we did, we returned to class on Monday to his bellicose pronouncement to the class, This is what a good bill looks like!', as he pointed us out. Kate and i looked at each other. That was also how a good friendship started.

2026-03-08

1968 was a bad year for many in our land. It was made worse for me when my Gram died suddenly while on a trip to Cali to see family. My heart and soul were shattered...i lost 10 pounds within the two weeks that followed and landed in the doctor's office when my parents got concerned. My malady? A shock to the system that would resolve over time.

Two years later, my Dad's two sisters decided it was time to have a family conference. My Dad was the 'intervener', the voice of reason in the family. My brother and i were told to go to bed early on the evening the meeting was to take place because Auntie Helen and Auntie Lois were coming over to 'have a talk'. Those two were like fire and water. i loved them both for who they were. They made me feel special. But because of who they were and the jealousies and animosities between them. i knew something big was brewing. The curiosity alone made sleep impossible, so i waited for their arrival at our home with anticipation as i put my ear to my bedroom door.

Once they arrived and got settled, all seemed to go well enough for a time. Everyone exchanged the usual niceties of polite conversation, but within twenty minutes their exchange devolved into what sounded like clenched civility. The topic? Who was going where in the family plot at Sunset Memorial Garden in St. Anthony! Both my brother and i crept out of our rooms to get a closer listen to the conversation. Our eyes regularly met in astonishment with each sentence that passed between family members as the muted argument became clearer: they were discussing who would be closer to Gram when they died. i whispered to my brother, 'Will it really matter? Will they know or care?' He and i covered our mouths to muffle our snickers. And, at the same time, our sadness grew at the thought of having lost Gram and how we would one day lose our Aunties, too. We could tell that Dad was straining to maintain control of the conversation, but was able to wrangle an uneasy truce in the matter before my Aunties abruptly left. Life, and death, are like that.

2026-03-01

Frank was trouble. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and hands that could have palmed a basketball with ease. He was a working man who lived by himself. His wife had divorced him years ago because she could no longer take his abuse. Frank had once attended Calvary Temple church; the day he accepted the Lord, he was shaking so badly he made waves in the immersion tank. He played guitar in his own band of one under a different name. Every payday, Frank took his check to a bar, cashed it, and proceeded to obliterate his life from his own memory. And, after getting too loud and belligerent, ornery and combative, Frank was regularly ejected from drinking establishments, getting a ride from the cops on the public dime to either a local hospital or the Douglas County Jail. And, there he stayed until they released him to go to work on Monday morning. That was until Wisconsin changed the laws and decided to fund detox centers staffed with people who could assess each repeat offender and treat each and all with dignity.

Parkland Detox Center was about seven miles outside the city limits. On a March day in 1974 i was working my shift. We were a skeleton crew, understaffed and hustling as we served those already there. A Superior Police squad car pulled up to our shop. Two officers got out, went to the back and wrestled Frank out of the vehicle, then shoved him in our front door. They simply said Frank was a 'regular', a 'pussy cat', and we should have no problem with him before they quickly left. Frank made liars out of them as he bellowed about how he was a proud Pole, how he didn't have a problem, how he was none of our business, and he could take any, and all, of us on then turn us to dust. He didn't want to be there; he was there for no reason, and there was nothing wrong with him. We were the ones who needed help and we could all go to hell. The usual rant of a scared man, i figured, So, i quietly spoke with him and said my job was to get along with him and see if there was anything at all he needed. Frank said he needed nothing more than another drink. Then i told him if he needed a friend, maybe even a girlfirend, i'd be happy to be all that if he'd calm down. He quieted down a bit and i talked him through the open door to the intake room and calmly ushered him to a chair.

The paperwork was already on the table before us and the first few minutes went smoothly between us. While he remained loud and all over the map with his thoughts, with a little cajoling, he was pleasant enough. Then, out of nowhere, his mood and behavior changed. i thought i was communing with the devil. Frank was pissed off and he was pissed off with me. He suddenly slumped over in his chair, pulled a gun from an ankle holster, and began waving it around erratically, threatening to kill my co-workers and me. A second of sheer panic, then a deep breath...i knew it was on me to make things right. i couldn't let him know my heart felt like it was going to explode, or that my head was throbbing, or that my palms were sweating. So i calmly spoke with him, told him i wasn't mad about any of what he did or who he was, and asked him what mattered most to him in life. i asked him if he wanted me to open the door, if he needed a glass of water, if he wanted to take his jacket off. i was there to listen to him and that i would do whatever i could to make him comfortable. Then i told him i could listen to him a lot better if he'd put the gun down. After what felt like centuries, he resettled and complied with my request. The paperwork could wait. As soon as he did, i said i had a nice bed waiting down the hall with some fresh sheets and pajamas. And, if he was really good, i'd sing him a lullaby. Frank liked that.

2026-02-22

i kicked over every anthill between three slabs of concrete sidewalk in front of my Gram's house in the Whittier neighbourhood in Minneapolis. i was in a gnarly mood after a too-hot-and-sticky summer night of sleeplessness, was bored, and could think of nothing better to do after breakfast. Little did i know my Gram was watching me on the front porch and was not pleased with my behaviour.

i went to live with one of my Gram's, my father's mother, for a time as a six-year-old. She was a loving woman who had grown up in harsh circumstances, and while she could be warm and generous, when she saw something that rubbed her the wrong way, a sterner aspect emerged. Gram called me to the porch, told me to come in, sat me down. She told me i would need to go back outside and watch those ants, who had scattered in panic as i destroyed their homes, rebuild their mounds before i could come back in. While i wanted to snap at her, i knew better. So with tears in my eyes, i went back out in the heat to sit on the lawn to watch those 'stupid' ants. Gram moved her sewing machine out onto the porch; she'd be watching.

Slowly, my sadness, anger, and self-pity melted with the day as i watched the ants re-order themselves to begin their task. Some burrowed, while many hauled fine grains of sand and soil back and forth. Over time, what seemed like a long time, i began to appreciate the tediousness of their work that on the surface appeared to be forever lost. They had not planned to spend their day in this way, either, yet there they were toiling away without break or disruption, determined to rebuild. Meanwhile, Gram brought me a drink of water periodically and checked 'our' progress. i said little to her as my fascination grew with the ants.

When Gram was satisfied that reconstruction was well underway, around six hours later, she told me i was allowed back in the house, told me to eat my supper, then go straight upstairs to bed. i did as i was told with few words said. The next morning i went downstairs. She was fixing breakfast and greeted me as i entered the kitchen. When i sat down to eat she joined me at the table and asked how i was and what i had learned the previous day. As i shyly shared my observations and the lessons i'd learned from the experience of doing what i did and what i'd learned from the ants, she was visibly pleased. We shared a hug and moved on. i revisit that day in my mind with more regularity lately...as well as the lessons learned.

2026-02-08

In the depths of winter, those days that barely hit zero degrees for what feels like days on end, my thoughts turn to a time burned into memory. A friend, a fellow artist and dreamer, who attended Macalester College in St. Paul, lived in a house built in the 1880's near a park. One day, i went ot visit her. It was a hot, sultry summer day- a day when a body sweats without moving, the birds struggle to sing or fly, the river flows more slowly than usual, and the leaves on the vegetation murmur in whatever breeze comes along. We have a quiet visit. We speak of what she is learning in school, the books she's reading, and the changes in her thinking as a result. We eat smoked salmon on saltines and consume cool drinks as we sit in her well-lit kitchen on the north side of the house, away from the sun. When evening falls, we decide to move to gin and tonics-our conversation is rich and full. Eventually, we move to the southside of the house to raise the window and to crawl out on the roof of the porch below, to catch the evening breeze. We also decide it's time for some tunes, but which genre? Ah, Janis Joplin, Bessie Smith, and Billie Holiday...perfect for such an evening! Sometimes we sit silently, sometimes we talk as we watch the stars emerge in the sky above. We are finally comfortable and feel whole.

2026-02-01

Back in the day, back in the 'hood, i had a younger friend who kept me company as i walked my pup down at the railroad tracks. Becky was an only child and normally spent a lot of time with her mom at home. i enjoyed her company and we spoke about a lot of topics on those walks...life, politics, how to 'manage' the parents, school, animals, birds, trees and the Earth itself. One warm sunny summer day, she reached into her pocket and presented me with a gift. It was a smooth rock with another rock on top that looked like a turtle. The big rock was inscribed with: 'Slow and steady is the pace, a motto for the human race'. Something inside me took that motto to heart and thanked her for her thoughtful present. More than 60 years later, i still have that rock and regularly look at it with a smile. It reminds me to breathe deeply, drink water, take things as they come, change the things i cannot accept with ease and care, and that love is a force for good. Thank you, Becky, wherever you are!

2026-01-25

On this sharp, icy-cold day in January, my thoughts turn to a woman who crossed my life path long ago. Linnea and i first came in contact with one another in the '70's. Linnea was a big-boned, heavy-set woman who looked like she meant business. She was in a psych ward in Duluth because she'd gone off her meds; i was there because i needed help with anxiety and depression. Linnea was given a private room for reasons that became clear to me in a day or two. She hollered and went on a swearing bender anytime someone entered her room. Yet she wandered into others' rooms at night, not to harm them, but to steal the things she had no money to buy. One morning i woke up to find my comb and toothbrush missing; I went on a mission to retrieve them and i went to her room to ask for them back. What i saw was a wounded person. After facing an onslaught of language not-repeatable-on-TV, i fought the urge to retreat. Instead i decided to back up a bit, let her settle into my presence, and simply let her run out of gas. Linnea was operating out of defense; neither of us meant to hurt each other, and when her eyes met mine, there was a recognition of each other. It soon became clear that those items were now hers; no harm done.

A decade and a half later, on such a day as this, i was driving the bus down the Nicollet Mall in Minneapolis. And, there was Linnea. She looked dishevelled and worn with her big, heavy coat and frumpy hat; she had two large garbage bags, one on either side of her bent body. i opened the door at the stop. Our eyes met as they had earlier, and contrary to the rules, i left my seat to help her get on. i knew she didn't have the fare; she was still the 'bag lady' she'd always been, moving from one 24-hour laundromat to another in the evenings just to stay warm and alive. Now, seated by herself, all was well. Some passengers, however, were disturbed that she was carrying on a conversation with herself out loud, as was her way, and began to tell her to be quiet. Their admonitions soon turned to bullying. Linnea's quiet talk got louder and more profane as the threat grew. Within minutes i pulled the bus over, got out of my seat again and told the offenders that this woman happened to be someone i knew and if they didn't like that, they could find the doors. The bullies mumbled about what i said and got off two stops later. When i reached my layover point, Linnea was the only remaining human passenger on that bus. We stayed warm, quiet, and comfortable there. We were survivors.

2026-01-18

People of a certain age will remember this...the civil defence signs posted in buildings that promised to protect us from nuclear threats. Yellow background with a black circle and three yellow upside down triangles within it. Back in the 50's and 60's, when i was in elementary school i remember looking at them with a sense of looming doom. i'd ask the adults about them and was told to ignore them, telling me nothing bad was going to happen. Then, i remember everyone's feeling of anxiety when hallways in school would seem flooded with alarms; we were to immediately push our desks against the nearest wall, then get under them and cover our heads. We were timed on how quickly we could do this and we couldn't get up until the person in charge told us so.

One day, i asked my Aunt Marjie, who was a civil defence captain in Minneapolis during WWII, what those signs were for...she explained in a way that made some sense at the time. They were to allow us to survive a nuclear attack from a foreign nation; they were to provide safety and they were necessary. When i got to high school, i looked for any chance to escape...somewhere, anywhere...all the noise, social mayhem, the jostling in the hallways, the failures i felt in math class. So, i made it my business to use those places i once feared in the building as a hideout. Often, i ended up in one of those shelters. The silverfish and i sang Gregorian chants down there for hours at a time...totally undetected. There were 55 gallon drums of "fresh" water and metal boxes full of crackers along concrete walls. No bathrooms, though...clearly a design flaw. Yet, it served in making me feel safe from all the assaults of my senses going on above. i grew to like that sign, to seek it out, to know where it was, just in case. i also came to understand the need we all have for sanctuary, for safe spaces, for places to simply be.

2026-01-11

Mino and i are walking through the forest on January 6th. i am in a dark place on this, the fifth anniversary. My mind wanders back to 9/11. On that day, i got up in the morning and went directly out to my garage without checking the news or weather. i had a canoe that i was hired to paint; i was on a deadline to get it done before the beginning of ricing season, which was late that year. So i rolled up my sleeves and got busy on that beautiful, sunny day ... occasionally stepping out to take note if it. i worked all day, and when i was finished and satisfied with the canoe's appearance, i was hungry. i drove up to Wolf Bay Lodge because the food was good and there was a band playing that night. Everything seemed fine when i walked in but as i was waiting for my meal, one of the band members asked us all to rise and sing 'Good Bless America' because our country had taken a 'hit' that day. i had no idea what he was talking about but complied with his directive. When the band took a break later, i found a familiar face in the crowd and went over to ask her what Eric was talking about. The blood left Sandy's face as she explained to me what happened that day and asked what rock i lived under. i was in disbelief and asked more questions. After a time, the reality of what she said sank in. i hastily gathered my food and raced home to watch the news, needing confirmation and time alone to make sense of things. On this day, today, i remember watching the news all day figuring there might be trouble. Little could i imagine what was unfolding before my eyes on the screen ... the horrors unfolding in real time. No one can tell me that wasn't real ... or that much has improved since then. My eyes aren't lyin' to me today, either. And tomorrow i will wake up again, shake off my fears, and get back to work trying to make something beautiful again.

2026-01-04

In 1957, when i was a small child, my family moved to Massachusetts. My dad took a sabbatical to pursue his Masters Degree for a year. In the spring of 1958, the year he graduated, my Gramma and Auntie Helen came to visit and took us on a trip to Adventureland, a theme park in a nearby town. One of the park’s features was an Old West movie set where a live drama was performed. All the visitors were to go to “town” at an appointed time to watch a gang of robbers in black hats, on black horses, hold up a bank and a stagecoach and escape with the loot. During the re-enactment, i was so taken by what i saw, certain what i was seeing was real, i proclaimed that i was ‘gonna go get ‘em’, jumped off the boardwalk where the crowd was gathered, and ran out into the street chasing the ‘bad guys’. Surely someone needed to do something about this! People in the audience were so amazed they shouted, ‘Go get ‘em kid!’, as they laughed and clapped in approval. My short legs, of course, were no match for the speed of the horses and the robbers got away. My family waved me back to them. Many in the audience told me what a brave girl little i was while my parents explained that none of this was real; it was just a show. But, i knew better…and i still do. As we enter 2026, go get ‘em!

2025-12-28

One hour 'til dusk on a warm, calm winter day. A biologist once told me that the cleaner the air, the higher up the trees lichens grow. Today i decided to make note of that as Mino and i were out for our jaunt around the park. i haven't been up to the top of the hill for a while...life and weather intervene on best laid plans at times. Today we can take our time...this makes us happy. After i reached down to brush the snow off my boulder, i sat down and looked up. The few clouds in the sky were pale magenta and shades of pink against a soft blue sky. The lichens in the trees were a good 25-30 feet above their root line. And, unlike so many other days, there was not a human sound to be heard. As darkness fell, a distant 'who-cooks-for-you' could be heard in a distant tree as stars became visible in the sky. i thought with wonder about how most of those stars were here before we we born...how most of them will be here when we once again return to the Earth. i am at peace with that.

2025-12-21

A gray sky with calm winds...snow falling gently on the Earth and all living things. Mino is not in the mood to appreciate this. Labs, as you may know, love to have something in their mouths at all times...and, they love water in all its forms. So today, as we embark on our journey through the woods, she has invented a new interactive game. She carries a rock or a stick for a distance, then drops it at my feet, looking at me expectantly and refusing to move. After a time, i figure out she wants me to throw snow into the air, and when i do, she is giddy. Leaping in the air over and over, she squeals with delight with each mittful of snow i propel skyward. Better yet, when i add the word, 'Whee!' to this action, her response is even more frenetic. In my mind, she envisions herself as a character in a snowglobe that is constantly shaken. What delight in such a simple thing! Enjoy.

2025-12-14

At least twice a week i make it a point to dust the snow off a boulder at Campsite 20 that is custom fit for me to sit upon. From the parking lot of the State Forest Park to the top of the hill where Campsite 20 is located is about a quarter mile...the last third is a steep slope to the top. Along the path, Mino and i slowly feel free and relaxed. The aroma of balsams and cedars seeps into our spirits, acting as a balm. We are not alone. Tracks in the snow let us know this...the cedar trees bear oblong holes where pileated woodpeckers drum out their messages, as well. When i reach the top, and my boulder, i sit and listen to my breathing, my heartbeat. All thoughts of 'being the wrong kind and not enough' fade...replaced by a sense of wonder at this place and our place in it. This is enough.

2025-12-07

Our walk today assured me winter is here. Back in the early 80's i took a one-credit phy. ed. class to fulfill my liberal ed. requirements at St Scholastica. i thought winter camping would be OK. NOT. We went to a camp near Ely on the coldest weekend of the year...temps. below zero and a wind chill factor the worst it had been all winter. We hauled our gear on sleds across a long lake, had to build a quinzy (a shelter of snow, hollowed out), etc. Long story short, i frost-nipped my fingers and have never been so miserable in all my life. My fingers have never been the same since, no matter how heavy my mitts are.

My fingers went numb today... Mino and i had fun just the same...

2025-11-30

We just got back from our daily walk...me and Mino. Last week the lake was frozen in parts...calm to no wind with temps below freezing...creating pancake ice turning to a thin glaze in the warmth of the day. When the wind came up, those thin panes of glass were blown into piles of icy shards that tinkled and glistened in the sun...and then were gone the next day. Today the water is icy, yet there is no ice...the wind will not allow it to form. Movement is funny like that...